Starcrossed
by Pieequals36
Summary: A selection of random drabbles, some AU, some future, some incredibly mushy. All Freddie/Sam centered.


_Authors Note: I had a load of short drabbles floating around my head so I created this __ I'll post sporadically and none of these are connected but each were inspired by an iPod Shuffle. Starts off a bit dark, but majority will be light and fluffy. Like a good cheesecake. Hmmmm cheesecake. _

_1. Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now – Airplanes, B.O.B feat. Hayley Williams. _

Freddie hates hospitals. They remind him of when his mother worked as a nurse. He rarely saw her back then and he assumes this is why she fusses like she does now. Some sort of retribution for missing his childhood.

It's not just that though, it's everything else. It's the smell, the harsh florescent lights, the noise, the constant sound of monitors beeping (inexplicably still echo even in the cafeteria). Life and death is such a contrast here. He could wander this corridor alone and come from a maternity unit into something far less hopeful. He believes no sharper contrast exists, no place with the same paradox. Hope and despair are resolute here, often a mixture of both. It's something akin to how he feels now, sitting by her bed, listening the rhythmic beeping of her monitor. Her breathing is steady, solid and this should be a comfort but it offers little in the way of consolation. Soft purple bruises mark her porcelain white skin, her bottom lip sharpened by a deep red gash.

He sits in the armchair, his heads pressed together in front of his face, his lips pursed against his thumbs. He watches her, contemplating. Waiting.

He sees a flutter of eyelashes, a gentle groan as she emerges from her slumber. Her eyes lock with his and he sees the fear there.

"Freddie," she chokes out.

He moves in and down, his hand combing through the wild blonde curls.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his thumb tracing her hairline, "I couldn't stop."

"You hurt me," she tells him, eyes watering. He hopes it's not from the pain.

"I know," he concedes, still stroking. "I'm sorry."

Gazes lock and tears fall, irrelevant their source.

"Promise this is the last time?"

He falters, much like before. His knuckles sting, fingers in his lap clenching and unclenching.

"I promise Sam."

_2. I didn't come this far/for you to make this hard on me/and now you want to ask me how/how does your heart beat/why do you cry – How, Lisa Loeb_

Sam is fully aware as to why she is left alone on prom night. She does not fake ignorance. And she does realise that perhaps adapting that "gentler" persona Carly so often tried to force upon her might have helped the situation somewhat. But it doesn't bother her, not really. The night was winding down, slow dances overtaking what was some otherwise acceptable background music. Couples paired off, the friends she came with now disappeared into bushes to throw up the copious amounts of vodka and beer they had consumed. The last she had seen of Carly and Freddie they...well they didn't seem like they wanted her company. She had found a deserted wooden gazebo out the back of the hotel. A few wayward teenagers danced together on the lawn, illuminated by soft lantern lighting. If Sam were in to that sort of thing she would have found it pretty damn romantic. Instead she made her way barefoot through the gardens and onto the gazebo, her strappy sandals dangling from her fingers by her side.

It was quiet here, the music now a faint hum in the distance. She leant forward, resting her elbows on the white wooden frame, angling her gaze to the water just below. She was hot, unbearably so, and the fresh night air certainly helped. Her surroundings sort of reminded her of the fairytales once told to her as a child. Although she would deny it to her last living day, Sam held faith in the prince and princess romance. At heart, she still believed.

Her mother had chided her before she left; why hadn't she asked a boy to the dance, why couldn't she be a normal girl for this one evening. The questions were harsh and a painful emphasis on what Sam was already thinking and did not need pointed out. Her mother's pictures would be of a grim faced blonde in a satin red gown. Alone.

Sam is not foolish enough to believe she will be alone forever but for now being a teenager and being alone was hard enough. The wind swept across her face, through her lose curls and she closed her eyes.

Growing up sucked.

Perhaps being alone outside in the quiet wasn't the best idea. She turned and there was a sharp intake of breath (she is still not sure if it was him or her) as her gaze fell on Freddie Benson. He stood middle of the gazebo, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black tuxedo, collar and tie open. Ok, she would admit it, loathingly so. The boy had gotten hot. Awkward teenage years behind him, Fredward Benson has finally become a man. And Sam has finally noticed what had been there all along.

It is only a shame it is two years too late.

"You promised me a dance before the end of the night." His voice is husky, low. It sends a chill through her spine.

"I think what I said was if I get drunk enough to find Gibby attractive I'd slot you in for a dance somewhere. And guess what?"

"You're suddenly experiencing feelings for Gibby you never thought possible?" he interjects with a lopsided grin. Despite herself she laughs and glances sideways to the distance. A silence passes, a moment with some unknown significance. In this moment he watches her blonde hair blow around her face, her arms crossed around her middle. The red fabric of her dress hugs her hips and creases just at her tummy. His boy mind wonders if it is as soft as it looks. He doesn't think he has seen anything has beautiful, nor will he ever again. Out of the corner of her eye she catches his gaze and arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow, challenging him. She would have totally won too, but it's late and she's tired. But it's the way he utters "come here" with his arm outstretched that is the strangely hypnotising part and she feels like she has little choice. Uncrossing her arms she delicately fits into his embrace, albeit with a small sigh. He keeps his distance in all his mannerly like disposition. Her hand slots into his, his other hand placed at the base of her spine.

They move together, slow and awkward. She carefully fixes her eyes to the ground and Freddie finds himself smiling at the top of her head. He makes the daring decision of moving closer, bringing their entwined hands up between them and pressing the fist of fingers and skin to his chest. Somewhere in her haze of surprise and dazed by the smell of his cologne she gasps at the sudden feeling of his hand slide up her back. His breath his hot against her ear and she can almost _feel _him smiling. Heads leaning against each other, they're unbearably close. She imagines this is how it must feel for everyone else; the sudden rush of teenage hormones, the craving of closeness.

She pulls back suddenly needing air. What she doesn't expect is for him to mimic her change in position, or for their faces to end up quite as close together. Her eyes flutter to his lips and he catches it. He's leaning in slowly and deliberately, allowing her enough time to change her mind. But she doesn't. Their lips meet in the gentlest of touches, barely moving. She hears him breathe in and he takes her more firmly, his tongue slipping between her lips. Much to her own amazement, they fit. Moulded perfectly together their tongues dance, caressing and teasing. Despite what Sam can only assume is the most perfect kiss in the world, neither move. Her hand is still clamped in his, and his arm is still tangled around her waist. When he finally decides he needs air and pulls back, realisation dawns on the mismatched pair. His girlfriend, her _best friend _ is inside. She's waiting for them both, waiting with full trust and patience. He's kissing his girlfriend's best friend (who also happens to be _his_ best friend, although on this he does not dwell) and she is kissing her best friend's _boyfriend_. In the world of a teenager it is nothing if not devastating. On the other side, Freddie is also fully aware that the pretty blonde in the red satin is made for him. He _knows _she is his soul mate. And he _knows_ it cannot happen.

In a lantern lit gazebo by a rippling moonlit lake, in what will be the most romantic moment in his life, Freddie Benson loses the love of his life while Samantha Puckett loses her faith in childhood fairy tales.


End file.
